


Lessons In Love

by deerkota



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Not Beta Read, Other, Size Difference, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, referenced getaway/tailgate, whirl is an ass
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-21
Updated: 2019-05-21
Packaged: 2020-03-08 23:14:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18904630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deerkota/pseuds/deerkota
Summary: “Whirl sneered. ‘Do you really think that someone like Cyclonus would want you?’ He scoffed. ‘Nobody wants someone’s leftovers or damaged goods. The sooner you get that through your naive little processor, the better.’”An alternative to what happens in MTMTE 47.





	Lessons In Love

This was probably not a good idea. There were plenty of other mechs onboard the _Lost Light_ , and yet Tailgate felt like none of them would be able to give him a straight answer. At least, that’s what he had thought before he passed Whirl’s hab suite. If anyone, he figured that Whirl would be one to be frank with him. Without thinking, he knocked a few times at the large door before him.

On the other side, Whirl groaned loudly before shouting through the thick metal, “Whatever it is, I didn’t do it!” His pedes thumped at the ground as he made his way toward the door and opened it. “Oh, Panic Button. Whadda ya want?” he asked impatiently, crossing his arms.

Tailgate fidgeted where he stood, mentally kicking himself for not trying to come up with what he wanted to say before he knocked. “Er, I-” He tried again. “I need your advice. It’s about Getaway.” Whirl looked at him with what he interpreted as a bored yet attentive expression, so he continued. “Getaway did the first three acts of the conjunx ritus, and then it was supposed to be my turn to reciprocate. I ended up not doing it because I heard him talking about what he actually wanted to happen when I went back to ask him to double check the Ravage-detecting wrench thingy because it was acting up and-” he felt himself start to ramble and cut himself off. “I just- I guess I realized that I was just trying to distance myself from Cyclonus by getting close to Getaway because Cyclonus kept pushing me away and I guess I just got tired of it. I want things to go back to how they were between us, but I don’t know how… I’m kind of afraid that he might be upset that Getaway wanted to interface- um, that’s not the point,” he shook his head. “I thought that maybe you might know what I could do,” he trailed off.

Whirl sneered. “Do you really think that someone like Cyclonus would want _you?_ ” He scoffed. “Nobody wants someone’s leftovers or damaged goods. The sooner you get that through your naive little processor, the better,” he said. Tailgate grasped for words, but anything other than a meager attempt at an excuse eluded him. Whirl, seemingly content with what he said (or just happy to not have to continue the conversation any longer) pressed a button on his side of the door, effectively shutting it in Tailgate’s face.

Defeated, the minibot pressed his head against the cool metal before making his way down the hallway. After a long while of wandering, he found himself outside of _Swerve’s._ He contemplated his options for a moment before deciding to go inside; it was that or go to his and Cyclonus’ shared hab suite, and he wasn’t ready to face the larger mech just yet. With any luck, he’d spend a few cycles there and by the time he decided to go back, Cyclonus would already be recharging.

He made his way toward the bar to greet Swerve with a halfhearted wave. The red mech, boisterous as ever, greeted him exuberantly and slid him a cube of high grade as the white and blue mech climbed the barstool to take a seat. “Hey, buddy! Why so glum?” Tailgate merely groaned in response and rested his head in his arms that were crossed atop the bar.

“I talked to Whirl,” he said at last, his optics peeking out over the top of his arm.

“Uh-oh, that can’t have been good,” Rewind said as Chromedome helped him into the stool next to Tailgate. “Why him? I mean, couldn’t you have come to us?” he asked.

Tailgate lifted his head a bit, his chin now on top of his arms. “I don’t want you guys to take this the wrong way, but,” he sighed. “I mean, you and Chromedome have been conjunx endurae for a long time and haven’t really had to deal with something like my situation in a while, and Swerve, I came to you for relationship advice once and- well, I’m sure you remember how that turned out. I just thought that Whirl could give me some solid advice without having some sort of bias, I guess.”

“Well, what did he say?” Swerve asked, leaning across the bar a bit.

“He- Oh no.” Tailgate curled in on himself in a futile attempt to go unnoticed, but the bot he’d spied out of his peripheral was already en route to where the three minis sat.

“Tailgate,” Getaway said, placing a servo on the small of Tailgate’s back. He squirmed away from the touch, and thankfully the larger mech relented. “I’ve been trying to get ahold of you,” he continued. “I thought we could… _discuss_ some things. I realize that the task I gave you was fairly daunting. I shouldn’t have asked something like that from you.”

Tailgate hadn’t been sure if Getaway had sensed his presence when he had overheard him, but as far as he could tell, the other was oblivious. “Oh, heh, sorry!” he said, turning to face him a bit. “My comm link is down – I still need to get it fixed.”

Getaway seemed to buy the feeble excuse. “Well, why don’t you come with me back to my hab suite? We could chat for a bit.”

“Oh, um, that’s okay,” Tailgate said, his servos hovering between them. “I actually haven’t had a very good day, so I kind of just want to relax for a while.”

“I’m sure we can find a way to do just that,” he persisted, taking a step closer to the other bot, effectively crossing the border from invasion of personal space to straight-up uncomfortable.

“I believe he said he is not interested,” a low voice rumbled from nearby. A clawed servo pressed firmly on Getaway’s shoulder, pulling him away from Tailgate if only a little. The minibot had never before felt such a strange mix of emotions: relief, anxiety, and mortification washed over him simultaneously.

“C-Cyclonus!” he said, his voice higher than he would have liked. Getaway looked between the two, scowled, and retreated back to wherever he came from. Tailgate stared blankly as Cyclonus offered him his servo.

“Come with me,” the purple mech growled, gripping Tailgate’s wrist and pulling him off of the stool. He stumbled after him, sparing a glance at his friends before they disappeared from sight as the two rounded the corner.

Once they were outside the door of their shared room, Cyclonus ushered him inside and closed the door behind them. Tailgate was about to thank him for scaring off Getaway, but was silenced as the taller mech glared down at him.

“He had ulterior motives,” he stated, as if he hadn’t caught onto it.

“Well yeah,” he muttered, avoiding Cyclonus’ gaze. “I’d assume he would after what happened. The whole stupid rite thing-”

“The conjunx ritus?” Cyclonus nearly snarled. He made an effort to calm himself after Tailgate nearly jumped out of his armor at the reaction. He knelt down to level with the smaller bot. “He wants the two of you to become conjunx endurae,” he said, his voice mostly level and considerably quieter.

“Yes- I mean, no! I just- I thought he actually loved me but he just wanted to use me,” he said. “I overheard him talking to someone about what he actually had planned and I got out of there.” He felt an uncomfortable heat press against his optics as coolant threatened to escape from behind his visor. “First you push me away, and then I go to _him_ and- I’m just unwanted,” he said, hardly audible. He jumped as Cyclonus suddenly gripped his shoulders.

“Whoever said that I didn’t want you?” he asked, his voice low. It was rhetorical, but Tailgate answered anyway.

“Whirl did. He said that no one wants someone’s leftovers,” he said bitterly, still avoiding his gaze. “I’m just damaged goods.”

In an instant, his back was pressed flush to the door, his chassis inches away from Cyclonus’. It took a moment for him to register that he’d been pushed back against the door. This time, Cyclonus did snarl.

“Don’t ever,” he said lowly, “Call yourself such a thing again.” At their current proximity, Tailgate could just barely make sense of Cyclonus’ EM field – anger (or maybe it was frustration?), affection, and something else he couldn’t quite put a name to, but it almost seemed to make the air around them crackle with energy. In a moment of bravery (or stupidity – it honestly could have been seen either way), Tailgate leaned up to hesitantly nuzzle his facemask against Cyclonus’ cheek in the form of a kiss.

Cyclonus pulled back a bit, and after a brief moment of shock, he pressed his lips against the mask. “You are not damaged goods,” he said sternly, “And you are not someone’s leftovers. You have been mine long before Getaway ever set optics on you.”

It was Tailgate who pulled away this time. “But I thought- You kept pushing me away! How-”

“I was a fool,” he said. “I believed that I would only hurt you, but I have since realized that if you are by my side, I am able to defend you. You make me stronger,” he said. He leaned forward, and his lips brushed against Tailgate’s audial. “And yet, you make me so weak.”

The white and blue mech suppressed a shiver, small servos clutching at the taller mech’s shoulders. He retracted his facemask and kissed him fully this time.

Cyclonus kissed back fervently, his arms wrapping around Tailgate’s waist before lifting him and moving to sit on the berth.

Tailgate felt Cyclonus’ glossa press against his lips. He allowed it to slip past as he moaned softly into the kiss. Heat began building up behind his panel, and he pulled away reluctantly after a little while.

“Cyclonus, there’s something I need to tell you,” he said, his vents hissing as Cyclonus moved to nip at the sensitive wires in his neck.

“It can wait,” he murmured, to which Tailgate shook his head and gently pressed at him to back off a bit.

“No, it can’t,” he said, his voice laden with guilt. “Getaway wanted- er, that is, we interfaced,” he said meekly, unable to look at him.

Cyclonus looked at him for a moment before turning Tailgate’s gaze to him by gently cupping his cheek. “Tailgate,” he said softly, “It doesn’t matter, not to me. Your past, even the recent past, does not define you. I am in love with the person you are, not with what you’ve done.”

He contemplated his partner’s words for a moment before smiling softly and pressing his forehead against his. “I love you, too,” he said softly.

Cyclonus shifted to let Tailgate lie back on the berth, his knees on either side of white thighs. His servos intertwined with Tailgate’s as he leaned forward to continue exploring his neck cables. He then began pressing one kiss after another down his chassis, his servos disentangling to pluck at sensitive hip wires, causing the mini to squirm.

“Haa, Cyc-clonus,” he panted, his vents cycling air in an attempt to cool his rapidly heating frame. He watched as the other made his way toward his interface panel, only to skip it altogether once he got close. Instead, he pressed kisses against his thigh as he hooked one white leg over his broad shoulder, the other following soon after on the opposite side. “Open for me,” he requested gruffly, finally making contact with his heated panel, his glossa laving over it.

A soft click and the panel slid away with hardly any effort on Tailgate’s part. His spike extended from its housing and lubricant leaked from his valve. He groaned softly as hot air ex-vented against the sensors.

Clawed servos gripped at his aft and a lower tire, and his glossa pressed against the slick folds before him, reveling in the noises his little lover was making. One servo left the tire in favor of replacing his glossa. With great caution, one digit pressed past the valve ring to run over sensitive clusters, and his mouth moved up to his exterior node and sucked.

Tailgate’s vocalizer glitched and skipped a few times before resetting. His hips canted slightly and Cyclonus held him still as he slipped another digit alongside the first and began pumping, followed by another. Charge ran through him, only to simmer down with a pitiful, static-laced whine as Cyclonus pulled away. The purple mech lowered him to the berth and examined his lubricant-covered servo, looked back to Tailgate, and licked his fingers clean.

“Ohhh,” Tailgate groaned, peeking out from behind his servos. The look he was giving him was hot, and did nothing to help his current needy state.

A soft click reached his audials, and he glanced down to see Cyclonus’ spike extended and fully pressurized. Primus, would it even _fit?_

Cyclonus brushed his clean servo against Tailgate’s cheek, reclaiming his attention. “If you do not wish to continue, you will tell me,” he said – it wasn’t a question. “If we begin and if at any point you change your mind, you must tell me.”

Tailgate nodded and pulled him down for a kiss. “I want this. I want _you_ ,” he murmured against his lips. Cyclonus grunted in reply.

“I will be gentle,” he said. “Our difference in size may be daunting, but minibots are compatible with standards; it just takes a bit of preparation. And you,” he almost smirked, “Seem more than ready for me.” He leaned down to nip at his neck cables again, and the tip of his spike rubbed against his slick folds.

Tailgate squirmed a bit, trying to get more contact, and he let out a breathy moan when he felt the tip press past his valve ring. His calipers clamped down on the intrusion, letting up after Cyclonus stroked his thighs lovingly. Inch by inch he felt him enter, pulling back every little while only to push back in more than before.

Tailgate felt their hips press into each other, and he looked down at where they met. “I-it fits,” he breathed, a bit surprised. Cyclonus chuckled quietly, his optics dimmed.

“Yes, but just so,” he said. He pulled out shallowly before thrusting back in quickly, hitting the mini’s ceiling node and causing him to gasp sharply.

Squirming beneath him, he tried to get more of that wonderful friction. “Cyc,” he whined, “Move.”

Complying, Cyclonus pulled almost all of the way out before pushing back in at an agonizingly slow pace.

Tailgate wrapped his legs around Cyclonus’ waist as best he could. He moved to meet each thrust, his servos gripping Cyclonus’ as he gripped his hips. Before long, he felt his charge run circuits through his body, and he cried out as he overloaded.

Cyclonus thrusted a few more times between the rippling of calipers before peaking himself, transfluid filling the fluttering valve and leaking out as he pulled out and collapsed next to his lover.

Tailgate’s optics onlined (when had they shut off? He wasn’t sure), and he registered the sound of his little engine whirring as it began to settle down. Cyclonus’ did the same, though it was louder and in a lower register than his own. “Th-that,” he breathed, “Was amazing. _You’re_ amazing.”

While Getaway was the last bot he wanted to think of at the moment, he couldn’t help but notice the drastic difference between him and his love. While Getaway had been dominating and in charge, Cyclonus had a sense of give and take, like he had been leading in a dance. Cyclonus had also made sure that Tailgate had wanted to continue.

He rolled over and swung his legs over the side of the berth, about to head to his own, but was stopped as an arm wrapped around his middle and pulled him back against a warm chassis. Apparently, the two larger mechs were different in this respect as well; once he and Getaway had finished, he’d shooed the mini away. _This is nice,_ he decided, arms wrapping around the larger one.

A comfortable silence settled over them for a stretch of time before Cyclonus broke it. “I will be speaking with Whirl,” he said decisively, leaving no room for Tailgate to argue. “If he or Getaway, or anyone else for that matter, try to bother you, I will be speaking to them, as well.”

Tailgate wriggled around so he was facing Cyclonus, and he pressed a kiss to the underside of his jaw. “I know. I _can_ do it myself, but if it’s that important to you, I’ll leave you to it,” he said. “Just as long as we can cuddle more often,” he added.

Cyclonus raised an optic ridge in vague amusement. “I can think of some other things we could do, as well.”

Tailgate grinned. “Mm, I think I can live with that.”

**Author's Note:**

> Lame ending is lame ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯  
> I hope you guys liked it! It’s my first time writing smut for these two (or anything mech/mech for that matter) so sorry if any of the terminology is wonky.


End file.
